Nikolai Ivanov, the title character of Anton Chekhov’s first produced play, has maintained an enduring allure for actors and directors despite the serious flaws of the dramedy that surrounds him. Director Laura Strausfeld has written a confusing new adaptation, assertively titled The Real Ivanov, with a befuddling tagline: “A Comedy About Despair.” Theatergoers familiar with the show would more likely describe it as a melodrama (or even tragedy) with some humorous elements.
After all, rare is the comedy that centers on a mopey and melancholic hero who ultimately puts to use the Chekhovian gun introduced early in the show. The British actor Sam Underwood (Fear the Walking Dead) skulks about the stage with a perma-frown and furrowed brow whose lines are deep enough for sowing crops. The character refers to himself more than once as a “whining Hamlet,” but he seems even more prone to inaction than the Bard’s tragic prince. He’s also surrounded by a bunch of cut-ups treating the material as a 19th-century Russian sitcom in which they must overcompensate for the lack of a laugh track by exaggerating every look, line, and gesture.
Strausfeld’s plain-spoken adaptation is considerably shorter than most productions, running fully an hour less than the middling 2012 revival starring Ethan Hawke that played on the same Classic Stage Company stage. (This is an indie project from Initiative Productions not connected to CSC.) The result is a revival that speeds through the plot points while muddling the tone from scene to scene. Indeed, some group scenes produce a jarring kind of whiplash as the more naturalistic performers clash with actors who work overtime to deliver dated punchlines.
Perhaps the idea is to reinforce the alienation of Ivanov, an upper class failure whose profound melancholia is exacerbated by the insurmountable debt on his family estate and the imminent death of his wife Anna (Ivory Aquino), a wealthy Jew disinherited for marrying Ivanov who’s mysteriously ignorant of her fatal tuberculosis diagnosis. There are moments when Strausfeld’s approach produces striking results — particularly in two group scenes where virtually the entire cast is confined to carpets rolled out on the otherwise bare stage like caged animals unable to escape their circumstances. Set and lighting designer Jiyoun Chang enhances the moment with some clever lighting devices that freeze moments in time.
But far too often, the clash of performing styles is more jarring than illuminating — blunting both the humor as well as the impact of the inherent melodrama. Chekhov has written a rogue’s gallery of comic foils: Ivanov’s irreverent uncle, Count Shabyelsky (an excellent Jordan Lage), a fun-loving prankster who flirts with a local widow (Kimberlee Walker); Lvov (Elijah Guo), a self-righteous prig of a doctor eager to denounce Ivanov for his callous treatment of his wife; and Kosyk (William DeMerritt), a local tax collector mostly fixated on his love of card games. But leaning to heavily into the foibles of these second bananas undercuts some of the more serious ideas the play seeks to make on antisemitism, morality, economic inequality, and the status of women in society. They seem as blinkered in their worldview as poor Ivanov, but their lack of self-awareness apparently inoculates them from tragedy; Ella Matza’s period costumes, all in muted tones and often looking one size too big, underscore the sameness of the community.
One of the show’s more complicated characters remains a cipher here: Sasha, the pretty young woman who pursues our slump-shouldered hero with single-minded focus even before Anna’s death. Yes, her parents are his biggest debt holders so a match could alleviate his financial predicament. But what could she possibly see in him aside from Underwood’s heavy-shouldered charisma? Neither seems to be lifted up by the budding romance, a fact that Ivanov alone comes to recognize: “I find fault with everything,” he says with characteristic self-awareness. “And then the people around me, who hear my grousing, start complaining about their lives too. What favor am I doing the world by continuing on this way?” He’s not wrong. This Ivanov is out of place in his society, as well as in this muddled production. ★★☆☆☆
THE REAL IVANOV
CSC’s Lynn F. Angelson Theater, Off Broadway
Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes (with no intermission)
Tickets on sale through Sept. 19 for $49 to $99